What Changed?
by Astrid Goes For A Spin
Summary: All I was going to do was help. And then Max finally let me in. I found a loophole in her armor; somehow, by accident, and we had a moment of connection over cookies. Surprising, sure, but all I can wonder is what changed her mind?


**A short oneshot from Maximum Ride set during School's Out- Forever. If you've read the book, you'll recognise this touching scene. **

**Something I always wondered is how Anne could live with the Flock for so long and not realise some of the poorer-kept secrets. She's a little smarter than the average bear, after all. **

**Max isn't the sweetest candy in the box, to be sure, so she'd be hard to deal with. The thoughts of Anne Walker, involving cookies.**

**Review at your liesure, if I feel up to it I might write two more chapters to this: her shopping with Max for her date, and her making Thanksgiving dinner with the flock. Feel free to request any Anne-Max moments; tell me if you want the two extra chapters: if you don't, I'm not going to write them. =) Enjoy!**

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><p>It hurts her. I can see that, but still I have to take care of the children in my house. I don't do it to upset her; but I know she doesn't like the 'mothering' I do, she doesn't like that I'm actually the right age.<p>

She's only fourteen; she shouldn't have to be the mother. Any other fourteen year old would be concerned with school and parents and boys; but she's so much more than that.

She feels like she's losing them.

I can't say I know how she feels, though. Not only do teenagers hate that; but she's the farthest from an ordinary teenage girl. She's so much more unique; spectacular.

Something that drives her insane is whenever I ask someone to do a simple housekeeping chore and they comply. They don't listen to her as much as she expects; but I'm sure they _do._ When she turns serious, there's no arguing, no backtalk, but simple: one, two, three, they follow her orders like they've been doing it all their lives; they trust her.

She doesn't like that I'm the last one to see her flock before they go to bed; and when they don't think I'm listening I hear her call them other names, which I suspect are their actual ones: Nudge and Fang, Gazzy and Iggy, and Angel.

It's sad. They've never known their parents; with names like that they couldn't have been very old when they were named themselves. These children have grown up in cages; it's true; and then hidden away, abandoned by Jeb, and on the streets. They've been through so many things that shouldn't be out of a science fiction novel.

But the phone call really ticks me off.

I thought they were at least trying for me, attempting to be…normal while they were at school. I thought they were making an effort.

"I got a phone call," I say to them as they line up their coats. I try to make it nice. "I guess you're all just adjusting." After all, they've never been to school before, around other kids their age. "Well, anyway. Come on into the kitchen. There's hot chocolate and cookies."

She snarls at me. She glares at Zephyr, who ducks his head in shame at whatever lesson she gave him on the way home.

"Let me just say that I'm very disappointed in your behavior," I say, pouring them their drinks. I put marshmallows in Max's, and her eyes narrow, but I can't think what I've done wrong. They're traumatized by all that's happened in their young lives. That's why I'm glad I'm here for them. They're fighters, survivors.

I unzip a plastic bag of chocolate chip cookies and slide them onto a plate, where they all grab some and inhale them; they must be really hungry. I have to see if I can do anything about getting them more food; but I think people would notice if six kids of different ages were eating more than grown men.

Then Max looks up, her hair windblown like usual, with a tinge in her cheeks. She hesitates for a moment, then the words spill out.

She looks like she wants to take them back at first, then surprised, embarrassed, and defensive as everyone else stares at her.

Why?

Because she said something along the lines of, "I could show you how to make cookies from scratch."

Then she mumbles, like to justify it, "There's a recipe on the back of the chip package," all while reaching for another.

I didn't know she cared so much: while the others enjoyed the comforts of home life, she's always on her toes, tense, strung like a wire, snappy, and expecting to be obeyed.

I can't yell at them now.

"I'd like that Max. Thanks," I say, smiling. Then I turn back to the sink and wonder to myself.

Could I have struck a chord? Something Jeb used to do, while fathering them? Some deeply important personal memory?

What changed?


End file.
